In His Care
by Olivia028
Summary: 20 years before a Gypsy enchanted a man, before a Minister set his world in flames for love, ... there was another. Frollo is guilted into caring for Quasi's wounded mother. As she heals they struggle to interpret the forbidden feelings they share.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I started writing this story, maybe... 3 years ago. and its been sitting on my desktop since then waiting for me to do something with it. i'm still working on it, along with all the other fanfictions i have in progress right now, but i read over it recently and decided i really wanted to share it here.**

**I promise i will update my other stories soon :D i just couldn't resist adding one more to the pile**

**Here's a longer description before the read :)**

**to love her is temptation, and temptation is one of the deepest of sins. but is sin worth her love in return?**

**20 years before a Hunch back rang the bells of Notre Dame, before** **a Gypsy enchanted a man, before a Minister set his world in** **flames for love, ... there was another.**

**When Frollo's guilt** **is played by the Deacon on that fateful night in Paris, he takes** **on another, not the deformed child, but its wounded mother.** **Forced to hide this woman in his home as she recovers, other** **secrets are kept behind closed doors, fascination with her fiery** **behavior, her lively spirt, and her love for life. the powerful** **leader begins to question his own rules of the religion he so** **spiritually lives by and struggles against the attraction of the** **woman who every day grows more and more involved in his life.** **While Minister Frollo struggles with the truth, his Gypsy guest** **struggles with her conflicting emotions. How could a man** **who's hurt her people so so much in the past have such a** **strong effect on her now? what secrets will be reviled to her** **wondering heart about the dark Judge of Paris... when in his** **care?**

**I hope you like it! and PLEASE review if you do 3**

In His Care

"_Dies irae, dies illa Solvet saeclum in favilla. Teste David cum sibylla Quantus tremor est futurus. Quando Judex est venturus." _

-Day of wrath, that day shall consume the world in ashes. As prophesied by David and the sibyl. What trembling is to be When the Judge is come-

The dark streets of Paris were silent and cold that night. The black sky gently fell upon the city in a light snow that dusted the cobblestones and ancient woodwork of the old buildings. The city of love now lay silent in its early morning slumber. But somewhere under the shadow of the great cathedral, the peace of the night was disturbed.

On that blackest of nights, the air was silent. The only sound was the hush of the snow as it brushed past the sleeping windows. No one stirred in their bed that night, nor did they awaken suddenly to lie in the emptiness one feels when they are pulled from pleasant dreaming. If only they were to listen through the darkness, they would hear the sound of hurried footsteps, desperately running through the night. If they were to rise from their beds to peer curiously through the glass, they would see a desperate gypsy woman, running for the freedom of her newly born child. If they would only open their ears, their eyes, or their hearts they could have seen her; The mother and her child in desperate need of help from the terror that ran just behind them. But sadly no one heard their cry.

With her heartbeat drumming heavily against her heaving chest, the mother ran onward through the snow covered streets, clutching her infant carefully in her arms as she went. Behind her the foreboding boom of her pursuer's horse terrified the gypsy mother, egging her to keep running and never look back.

She took a turn to her left heading toward what she remembered to be the way back toward the river but was faced with a large black wall. Panicking the mother searched around. Upon spying a narrow balcony, she leaped over the low railing, slipping on the ice below. With concern for her child she held him closer to her body, keeping him safe as she landed. She turned for a moment to look up at the large black horse above her. Its powerful legs rearing at the obstacle its rider now tried to make it face. Collecting her self she ran onward, hoping the beast wouldn't be able to follow. But the cry of its rider and the thunder of its black hooves destroyed her hopes of escape as they again echoed through the narrow allies of the streets just inches behind her.

As the gypsies and their pursuer ran on through the streets of Paris, the great bells of the ancient cathedral Notre Dame began to sound the hour. At hearing its toll the gypsy mother sought hope, for she knew as code of the church's acceptance, they would grant her and her child the safety they needed. With her last strength she quickened her pace and turned suddenly in the direction of the booming ring of the tower, temporarily losing the horse and its master.

Coming under the looming shadow of the great cathedral she stopped for a moment, catching her breath and shifting the weight of the heavy infant in her arms. Maybe she had lost him she wondered, her lungs quivering with every breath. From the corner of her eye she saw a quick flash of movement. She turned, swiveling around to see the dark steed and the even darker man come rushing from another alleyway.

The mother let out a cry of desperation, but strangely her child never made a sound. Turning, She ran desperately up the steep steps of Notre Dame loosing her footing once on the icy surface.

The chase had only lasted a minute but to her shaking body it had seemed as if the rider had chased her for hours. The third toll of the bell sounded adding to the already unbearable ringing in her ears. Glancing over her shoulder she could see the great black beast struggle as it leaped up the stares behind her, breathing heavily under the weight of its vigorous ride and its demanding rider. The creature's heaving body was one step behind, close enough to easily see the beads of sweat shining on its night black flank.

With one last thrust of desperation she threw herself upon the giant wooden doors of the cathedral, slamming her fists upon its ancient surface and causing it to almost creek and splinter under her now bruised hands.

"Sanctuary!" she screamed to the old church, "Please give us sanctuary!" but before her plea could be answered, the horse's hot breath was felt on the back of her neck as a cold hand reached down, pulling her and her child away from safety.

She was viciously spun around forced to face her unmerciful pursuer. A towering man decked in flowing black robes glared down at her and her baby from beneath the shadow of his brim, enraged at the small woman and the trouble she had caused him that night. This disgusting gypsy had sinfully stolen something, and after giving he and his horse a terribly rigorous ride through the cold morning, now dared to soil the great Notre Dame with her presence and pitiful cry for sanctuary. Determined to have her locked away and punished for her unforgivable deeds, the black hunter grabbed at his prey, snatching up the bundle from her arms and pulling it away. But her hands like claws still clung to the fabric, begging him to let go. The bell tolled four, shaking the ground ever so slightly under the powerful hooves of his midnight stallion. The horse reared up in fear as the second echo of the toll came vibrating heavily down from the black tower above, surprising both his rider and the frightened woman beneath him.

Not letting go of the bundle between them, the cloaked man pulled his reins viscously and cursed his ragging animal. Beneath his fluttering robes and ducking from the pawing blows of powerful hooves, the mother let go of her child with one hand to protect her own face from the rearing horse above her. But With the third echo of the chiming bell the stallion let out a haunting whinny that seemed to match the volume of the toll overhead, challenging it in magnitude. Its cry sent chills across her struggling and tired body and as the freezing wind whipped it self harshly against her back all the noise of the moment melded it self into one solitary scream. The blow of sound caught the gypsy off guard, causing her to let go of her young child and cradle her own ringing head in her hands.

Slowly but surely the bombardment of surrounding noise faded back to the silent darkness of the early morning. And as she looked up through the snowfall, the last thing she saw was her own new born child in the arms of a black shadow; his robes rapped around him through the wind like stretching black wings ominously cradling him and the child in his arms. As the horse came down, black hooves struck hard against her arm sending her into a curled over hunch, a strong kick to her chest from the black rider above gave the final push sending her tumbling backward through the air and the ring of the final chime. The hum of the bell gave into silence just as her young head struck the hard step sounding a crack of the impact to pan out through the open square, under the great Cathedral.

All that passed her ears was the gentle sound of landing snowflakes upon the frozen earth beneath her. And with a whisper of wind, the darkness came and her eyes closed against the world.

**Please leave me a review of what you think so far :D and don't worry! there's already more to come. enjoy your read! **


	2. Chapter 2

Two

The world seemed silent and empty as the last echoes of the Cathedral's bells ran like ghosts away from the dark scene under the tower. Steadying his horse and the beating of his own heart, hard within his chest, the minister stared through the darkness at the woman on the steps. No sound had passed her lips when she fell, not a scream nor a shout of pain, but strangely he felt as if in that moment between bells and the smacking of her skull, the whisper of her breath had reached his ears. Reaching up he rubbed his hand against the side of his head, ridding the hovering noises of the sudden moments before from his ears. After all the noise and struggle of their fight over the bundle, the sudden silence seemed thick and cold. But that didn't matter. Silence meant peace, and peace was good.

The warmth in his hands alerted him to the treasure that lay there. What was this thing that the woman had fought so hard for? Surely it was no object of gold nor jewelry, neither had the warmth or feel that this thing possessed. The fat bundle felt awkward in his thin hands and as he peeled away the layers of fabric the man found him self in shock of what lay bundled inside. Rosy pink flesh, and a soft head of hair peeked from under the blanket, this was an infant. He didn't need to see the face to know that in his hands he held a baby, most likely belonging to the woman who now lay motionless on steps beneath him, her motionless body now gathering a thin layer of snow.

Looking in her direction he saw that still the babe's mother wasn't getting up, dead most likely._ Clumsy Gypsy woman. Not my fault. _He thought. _Not my fault._ The Minister looked up at the aspiring pillars of stone looming high above the city, every second growing more aware of the cold air around him. He disliked children especially those of unholy backgrounds. He wanted this child out of his hands; he wanted to be in his warm home, away from all this trouble.

The gypsy had asked for sanctuary, since now she couldn't have it, maybe her child could, though heaven knows god does not forgive easily.

"Come On." His low voice and the tap of his reins guided the horse forward, stepping carefully now as not to slip on the iced step of the Cathedral. The Utter of his deep words and the heavy pawing of his steed's large black hooves reverberated through the courtyard. Slowly, they came back as whispers to tickle the ears of the four who stood there; a man, a babe, a horse, and a woman, frozen and sprawled on the unforgiving steps of the dark church.

Reaching the church's doors, the dark man dismounted and steadied his animal. He knelt down and placed the child at the foot of the great door, now it was a burden of the church, and no longer a weight in his arms. Still, quietly the snow fell, freezing the stone as it landed and creating an icy bed for the bundled baby.

Upon being placed on its cold surface the child let out a startled cry, first of shock of and then of discomfort. The minister recoiled in surprise as the child continued to wail in its high-pitched voice. He covered his ears and stared annoyingly down at the screaming infant.

"Be quite, would you." he shouted, trying to silence the baby's frightened cries. The noise was sure to alert someone, if it hadn't already. He looked back and forth from the baby to the surrounding area. Finally, not knowing what else to do, he turned away from the child and walked quickly to his horse. Jumping into the cold saddle he grabbed the reins, turning them away from the church and all the trouble there.

With his back turned toward the cathedral, the man sought hope in the site of a newly awakening Paris, the sprawling city laid out before him from the top step of Notre Dame. Across the valley of smoking chimneys lay his home, the great palace of justice. In the top window of the old building, one that was not a palace at all but more of a towering sister to the church under which he now stood, the minister swore he could see the glow of a fire waiting for him.

The crying infant was silenced, drawing the man from his warm thoughts. Thankful for the quite once again, he turned to glance once more at the sad scene of the child and its mother, before he rid himself of them altogether. But he was stopped, his face sobering at the sight before him.

Flooded in the warm light now pouring from the open doors of the church knelt the Arch Decant, in his arms he held the babe and in his eyes the deepest of sadness flowed from his gaze at the frozen woman lying before him. His face seemed to quiver with sadness as he uttered words of prayer for the woman lost. Shaking his head, he held the baby closer to his chest and looked around searching for the thing responsible. Through the dark morning, his eyes, landed on the man on horseback. Standing not far before the steps of the cathedral this man stood, looking uncomfortable and unusually powerful all together. His black clothes and the dark flank of his horse frightened the Decant for a moment. He was assured that before stood a black demon over looking the woman and awaiting her soul to pass on with him. But as the tears cleared from his eyes the old Decant could see as the dark creature became just a man, one who's expression wore the guilt of the sad scene behind him.

The rider looked back at the Decant and his disapproving eyes, uncomforted by his gaze and angered by the accusation that shouted there. The minister felt like fleeing but as he turned his horse toward home he heard the Decant call his name.

"Minister Frollo! Don't you dare turn you back on this church!" He stopped, but did not turn around.

"If you claim to be a Christian, and serve thy church and thy god, you will stop! The eyes of god are all knowing and his heart all understanding, but even the heart of a god is not big enough for what you have committed here tonight."

"I have not sinned." The minister said quietly, more to himself than to the man shouting behind him.

"How could you rob this woman of her young life? Not only be she a young girl but a young mother!"

The minister shook under the bombardment of the cold accusation and repeated again slightly louder, "I have not sinned."

"Have you nothing to say for the crime you've committed, the deed you preformed under this holy cathedral, the sin you…"

The minister turned viscously toward the Decant and his church and faced the man's questions with a yell," I have not sinned! Not against you, not against my church, and never, NEVER, against god!" he lead his horse quickly to the side of the woman, jumping off of and facing the holy man who stood, brutally accusing him of unfaithfulness under the tower of his own church. Filled with rage and embarrassment for such a title as "unfaithful" the Minister vocally faced the Decant, yelling and defending himself. He was a holy man who's entire life has been set to serve his lord. He reminded the man of his position and high title of Judge and lord Minister, and cast shame upon him for daring to accuse such a holy man as he.

"I am guiltless!" he insisted glairing down at the old Father before him. Silence was thick and uncomfortable between the two men and it stood there as a wall between them, until the ghostly presence of the gypsy who lay motionless at their feet broke their stare and guided their eyes to her body. Both men stared at the woman, one with sorrow one with a face of stone.

The father sighed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "I will take care of the child," he said through closed eyes. Minister Frollo looked back at the Decant in surprise. The old man and the baby seemed like an unlikely pare but yet, he cradled the child, and, with its face still covered under the cloth, it seemed to sleep comfortably in his arms.

Looking to the sky and whispering prayers in his low Latin tongue, the Father signed the cross over the body of the Gypsy and kissing his fingers gently to his lips turned and walked slowly back to the church. Frollo watched him, an old man walking away from the darkness and death to enter the church through a door of light.

"Father!" Frollo called after the man, "Thank you." The Decant stopped in the doorway and turned back to the minister.

"Don't thank me Frollo. I'll take care of the child, you take care of her." Frollo's face filled with shock. He looked down at the Gypsy and back at the man, now silhouetted in the light. Protesting he said, " but Father…"

" No! Remember, Frollo, Hosea 13:16. _Amaria vadum gero suus crimen, quoniam is has rebellis obviam suus Deus; they vadum cado per mucro; suum parum ones vadum exsisto audacia in pieces, quod suum gravida women laniatus patefacio_."

The Latin was thick in his throat and struck Frollo powerfully in his heart. He considered the scripture and looked down again at the woman. The light from the doorway vanished from her frozen face as the large doors closed. The Minister was left alone in the cold night with not but a corpse by his feet. He could still leave he thought. But he looked up at the cathedral with its crown of patron saints, each with cold eyes of stone glairing down at him from high above the city, the powerful words of the Arch Decant stirring in his mind, and he knew he could not.

Frollo called his horse to his side, adjusted the saddle, and kneeling down to examined the body. Her skin was blue with cold, her fair lips, parted slightly, were a faint pink. The eccentric bright color of her clothes, and deep black shine of her soft hair stood out beautifully against her now pale body. Frollo allowed himself to indulge in her gentle beauty, surprising himself with the smile that crept across his face whilst looking at her. Like a doll she lay before him, a sad sight, he thought, if not a Gypsy she could have been truly beautiful.

The Minister tilted his head and with a gloved hand gently dusted the snow from her face. He froze, his eyes narrowing. Had it been the breeze of a winter wind? Or had he felt her gentle breath on his hand? Quickly Frollo took the tip of his glove in his mouth and pulled it off swiftly with his teeth; he lowered his hand to her face and waited. Again, but barely a whisper, her breath grazed his cold skin. She was alive. The minister looked around for the Decant but even the light from the stain glass windows had been extinguished to darkness. It was only him. The night sky was starting to brighten, the morning sun threatened to rise, hiding just below the horizon. The Minister Began to panic, soon people would awaken and church goers would come to the Cathedral seeking early prayer, Frollo could not be the first thing they saw, not like this. Fear of being discovered with an unconscious Gypsy woman at his feet, the Minister acted quickly, sliding his arms under her body and lifting her up into his embrace. It would be a faster ride if he carried her this way. Mounting the black stallion, and adjusting the woman in his arms, he grabbed the reigns shouting his command and kicking the steed to run forward.

The horse ran through the narrow streets of Paris, fleeing the Cathedral of Notre Dame, and racing the impending sunrise. The Minister's black robes flowed violently behind him and his horse, his legs sore from gripping the charging animal and balancing the cold woman in his lap. And through his panic and rush of energy, still his mind went over the words of the Decant, over and over. He had reminded him of the woman of scripture, Samaria, and the guilt of her sins that had killed her. Over and over he examined the words in his mind.

"_Samaria shall bear her guilt, because she has rebelled against her God; they shall fall by the sword; their little ones shall be dashed in pieces, and their pregnant women ripped open."_ Hosea 13:16

Guilt was a weapon the church used well. The minister looked down at the woman he held with one arm, the skin of her cheek resting on his chest was cold and blue, this affected him deeply for some reason, maybe it was his fault. He held her closer to him, hoping to give her some of his warmth.

Pulling the brim of his large dark hat over his eyes and gathering his robes, he wrapped the black fabric around himself and his silent passenger. The powerful black animal running onward quickly made distance between the riders and the looming towers of the watching cathedral, its tallest pillars just gathering the first golden light of the ever-rising morning.

**Great Googly-Moogly! she lives! but what will the great Frollo do with her now? o-O hehehe i wonder**

**Please leave me a review of what you thought! :D thanks! **


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